


027 "proposal"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [27]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Post-Iron Man, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony’s been thinking of proposing to Pepper for a while now—he’s even been carrying a ring around with him—but the moment has never seemed right. Until, while talking with teenage Mike Rhodes, he comes up with a perfect plan, involving a paintball tournament, candy buffet, and go-kart track, with a wedding somewhere in the middle. At least, that’s what he claims he wants, when he asks Pepper to marry him at the Rhodeses’ dinner table. “Why does this sound more like the opening of a horror movie than a wedding?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	027 "proposal"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

“So how come you don’t wear a wedding ring, Uncle Tony?”

I was not fazed by Mikey—er, Mike, we were supposed to call him Mike now—Mike’s question and continued attaching the wires to the circuit board we were building in the Rhodes’ garage. “Because I’m not married.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he responded smugly.

I looked at him with amusement. “Did they just teach you that in school, or have you been thinking it over for a while on your own?” I asked him, with great affection. I figured he was old enough to take a little gentle ribbing, being all of sixteen and certain he knew it all.

He rolled his eyes at me, unperturbed by my comment, and carefully turned a screw to secure the wire. “What I was _getting_ at,” he insisted, “was that you should really marry Aunt Pepper one of these days.”

My hand slipped and the wire jerked sideways, nearly overturning the whole project. Mike smirked in the way of know-it-all sixteen-year-olds as he helped me to right it and pick up the loose pieces. “Don’t you know better than to scare a man when he’s doing delicate work like this?” I complained.

“Aunt Pepper’s been waiting a long time, Uncle Tony,” Mike reasoned. “I mean, I remember getting presents from her for Christmas when I was really little.” Ah yes, the infamous ‘magic light-up weasel,’ which no longer really frightened Ellie but still held a place of honor in Mike’s room. Well, he had a point there, I supposed.

“What makes you think Aunt Pepper even _wants_ to get married?” I asked him. Considering that we were not—at least as far as anyone _really_ knew—even A Couple.

“All girls wanna get married,” he informed me knowledgeably. “Eventually.”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah, you know, they’re always daydreaming about wearing a fancy dress and a crown and having flowers and cake and presents and c—p like that,” he explained, as if this should be obvious.

Clearly he had been hanging around with a biased sample of girls. “And, since when are cake and presents ‘c—p’?” I challenged.

“Well, fancy wedding cake with that nasty icing stuff,” he clarified. “And wedding presents are always really boring—like towels and plates and stuff.” I had to agree with that, at least.

“And just what kind of fantastic wedding would _you_ have, hotshot?” I asked him, pushing the circuit board towards him to work on.

“Well,” he began, picking up the forceps thoughtfully, “I would get all my friends together, and all the relatives who were cool—like you, Uncle Tony—“

“Good lad.”

“—and we would all go out into the middle of the woods somewhere, nice and isolated.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why does this sound more like the opening of a horror movie than a wedding?”

Mike adjusted some of the connections carefully. He was getting very adept at this. “Then, we’d all play a big game of paintball,” he decided.

“ _Paintball?_ ”

He grinned with great satisfaction just thinking about it. “Yeah. Then when the game was over, we’d do the marriage bit—you know, say what we had to say with the minister—but that would only take, like, two minutes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then we’d all hang out at a mini-golf course or go-kart track, and whoever wasn’t cool enough to play paintball could join us there for sodas and chips and stuff,” he concluded.

I smirked at him as he finished tweaking the circuit. “I can see the invitation now. ‘You are cordially invited to a paintball tournament celebrating the marriage of Michael Anthony Rhodes and, um… hottest girl in school. Go-kart track reception to follow.’ You know,” I realized slowly, “that’s actually a pretty awesome idea.”

“I know,” he agreed.

“I may have to steal it from you,” I warned him.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Go ahead. I’m not getting married for a really long time. Everyone will have forgotten your wedding by then.”

Brutal honesty was one reason I liked hanging around with kids. Creativity was another. “No,” I decided suddenly, disappointed, “Pepper would never go for paintball. She’d have to wear _jeans_.”

“Well, it’s only for a couple of hours on one day,” Mike pointed out sensibly. “Don’t lots of girls buy an outfit for their weddings that they never wear again?”

“You are full of good points today,” I complimented him, at the risk of overinflating his ego. “And if I made sure there was enough candy at the reception, Pepper would go anywhere, even a go-kart track or mini-golf course.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, Uncle Tony,” Mike agreed. “So when are you gonna make this happen?”

I was thinking rapidly now, rather than supervising him as I was really supposed to. “These things take planning, Mike,” I told him. “You have to set stuff up in advance, decide exactly what you’re gonna say and how to say it. You can’t just turn to the girl next to you on the couch and say, ‘Hey, you wanna get hitched?’”

He looked up at me with a frown. “I thought Dad said that’s what _he_ did.”

I waved that off. “That wasn’t his fault,” I explained. “He _had_ something big planned, but I wrecked it by, er, doing some things you’re not supposed to know exist in the world but which you’ve probably already seen on MTV. So he had to improvise.”

Mike was just about to probe for further details when the door to the garage opened and Rae stuck her head in. “Time to get cleaned up for dinner,” she announced.

“Aw, Mom,” Mike complained. “Uncle Tony was just gonna tell me about the time he‑‑“

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” I interrupted brightly. For a smart kid Mike could still be kind of dumb sometimes.

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and cooked carrots,” she replied, giving me a narrow look. “Pepper made the mashed potatoes herself,” she added, “and you two are to eat some _without_ complaint.”

That didn’t sound promising. “Why, what’s wrong with them?” I asked immediately.

“Not a _word_ ,” Rae merely warned, leaving us.

“Good thing I wasn’t looking for a woman who could cook,” I muttered. “Hey, you wanna help me out a little?”

“Sure, Uncle Tony,” Mike agreed readily.

I pulled a ring out of my back pocket—I’d been carrying it around for a while but never seemed to find the right moment to use it. “Why don’t you hang on to this for me, until I need it?”

“Cool,” Mike said, with a conspiratorial grin.

“Well come on, kid, let’s not keep your mom waiting,” I told him. “I can’t afford to get in trouble with her anymore, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Mike protested, following me into the house, “because no one ever tells me the _good_ stories!”

“I’ll start telling you when you’re seventeen,” I decided, “because that’s how old I was when I started generating them.” I thought that seemed fair, but at least two dissenting voices rang out from elsewhere in the house. I wandered into the kitchen where Pepper was messing with some sort of food item. “So I hear you made the mashed potatoes,” I commented neutrally, washing my hands at the sink.

“Tony,” Rae cautioned, walking in to grab some plates.

“It was just a fact-finding mission, that’s all!” I protested innocently. I didn’t think either of them was buying it.

“That t-shirt is getting worn,” Pepper remarked with a frown, looking me over.

“Indeed. Because I am, in fact, wearing it,” I zinged.

Pepper remained straight-faced. “Puns are only funny when you don’t realize you’re making them,” she judged harshly. “I will have to dispose of this when we get home.”

Meaning the t-shirt, of course—the casing of the arc reactor was h—l on t-shirts and usually rubbed through them after just a few wears. I could have alleviated the problem by choosing shirts that were a little bit looser—never happened to the button-downs, for example—but I didn’t really feel I was at the ‘loose t-shirt’ stage of life yet. I still had some muscles to show off.

“I dunno, Pep,” I hesitated, drying my hands. “I this is one of my favorite shirts. Maybe we could just cut the hole out of the middle and save the rest?” I had done that before, for example with my AC/DC t-shirt I got in college.

Pepper gave me a narrow look. “It’s a plain white t-shirt that you got last month.”

“Oh, but it has _sentimental_ value,” I assured her, unable to keep from grinning.

“I’m going to make sure you get an extra helping of mashed potatoes tonight,” she retaliated, which I thought was overkill. She tapped a finger disapprovingly against my chest, specifically against the circle of cardboard I kept taped over the arc reactor normally. Most people got a little freaked out by the blue glow that shone through my shirts otherwise. Go figure. Pepper, of course, _preferred_ the human nightlight look. “I made the potatoes with you in mind,” she added cryptically, handing me my sweatshirt.

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I admitted. “Were you thinking of me when you boiled their skins off, or when you mashed them to a paste, or…?”

“You’ll see,” she promised, with a zeal that made me queasy in advance.

Soon I _did_ see what she meant. The mashed potatoes, as set out on the dining room table, were what I could only describe as ‘arc reactor blue,’ or at least as close to it as Pepper could come using food coloring. She seemed very pleased with the results. The rest of us, who had been warned by Rae, accepted our blue mashed potatoes without protest, eyes downcast to avoid giggle fits.

Rhodey said grace and we were finally allowed to dig in. I noticed only Pepper started with the potatoes. “So what were you girls up to today,” I asked, “besides, er, cooking, of course?”

“Aunt Pepper and I were sketching in the backyard,” Ellie reported excitedly. She was becoming quite the artist, really, which I enjoyed as much as Mike’s propensity for electronics. “Here’s mine!” Having come to the table prepared, Ellie passed her sketchbook over to me. I offered well-deserved praise of her floral studies and handed the book to Rhodey for more of the same.

“And what did _you_ draw, Pepper?” Rae encouraged. Years had passed and Rae still seemed to be under the impression that Pepper had a fragile ego which needed constant nurturing, especially since I no doubt trampled it at every opportunity.

It was quite the opposite, in fact. I mean, she was probably secretly relishing making us all eat frickin’ _blue_ mashed potatoes, and it was _Ellie_ who looked nervous as Pepper cheerfully handed over her own efforts.

Now you might think that, based on Pepper’s style in singing and playing the piano, she would be a natural art forger or something along those lines—able to reproduce almost exactly whatever she was looking at, but without any kind of interpretive skill. But in reality, Pepper really _tried_ with visual arts. It was just that, well, her perception of the world was a little bit different from other people’s. Okay, a lot different.

This might be difficult to imagine, but suppose instead of eyes you had some kind of scanning beam, some kind of optical device, instead. A computer that took measurements of the objects in view—height, width, depth, weight, mass—and also recorded the exact wavelengths of light being refracted by each surface (i.e., its color). Also throw in information not typically recordable in a two-dimensional drawing, like thermal gradients, the composition of volatile chemicals in the vicinity (i.e., smells), sound wave frequencies, and mathematical descriptions of motion. Translate all of these into numbers, equations, and the occasional chemical formula—then scrawl them haphazardly across a piece of paper in whatever order Pepper happened to analyze them.

See? I told you it was a little different.

I looked over the numbers on the paper and did a few quick calculations. “Is it… Buster, lying in the sun?” I asked.

Pepper smiled while Ellie’s jaw hit the table. “How did you know, Uncle Tony?” the girl demanded.

“Oh, I’m familiar with Pepper’s style,” I explained knowledgeably, passing the notebook back.

I let the dinner table conversation drift around for a while—work, school, TV, upcoming plans. Finally, when I felt the moment was right—with Mike squirming impatiently beside me—I made my announcement.

“Actually, I was thinking of hosting a paintball tournament one of these days,” I told the table.

Rhodey and Rae rolled their eyes a bit, but the kids seemed interested. “That’d be cool,” Mike added supportively.

“And after the game, we could all hang out at, like, a go-kart track and have some snacks,” I continued blithely. “Oh, and in the middle somewhere, Pepper and I would get married, but that would only take a couple of minutes.” That got the table’s attention. “What do you think, Pep?”

She frowned a little. “Isn’t paintball kind of… messy?”

“Oh, come on,” I persuaded. “It’s just a couple hours. You could wear casual clothes for that long. You know, lots of women buy an outfit for their weddings that they never wear again.”

“Is he _serious_?” Rhodey asked with disbelief.

Pepper considered my argument. “Well… will there be candy involved at some point?”

“Sure, we could set up one of those candy buffets at the go-kart track,” I suggested.

“I don’t think he’s serious,” Rhodey scoffed.

“I am too serious,” I informed him, sounding quite indignant that he would question me. “Pepper, how about a new piece of jewelry? How about a ring? Would that put the deal over the top for you?”

“Hmm. Well, if I have to wear… _jeans_ or something,” she replied, using the same tone others might use for ‘dog poo,’ “a sparkly ring would be a nice gesture on your part.”

“A ring, right…” I started patting myself down—a little theatrical, I know, but nobody ever accused me of being subtle. Not finding anything suitable on me, I turned to my oldest friend. “Rhodey, do you have—oh, no, you don’t.” Rhodey worked with his hands too much to wear his wedding ring on a regular basis. I looked at Rae across the table. “Rae, would you mind if I—“

Oh, she minded. “Not on your life,” she declared, guarding her engagement and wedding rings as if I might try to snatch them away. “What are you playing at?”

I began glancing elsewhere around the table, a look of consternation on my face. I judged that the adults were wondering what substances I might be abusing right about now. “Well, I really need a ring, so, hmm—“

“Hey, Uncle Tony,” Mike said, with perfect timing, “I’ve got a ring you could borrow.” He held up the one I had given him earlier.

“Great! Thanks, Mike.” ‘Borrow.’ I liked that. I gave the ring a cursory glance, then chucked it across the table to Pepper. “Well, will this do?”

She caught the ring and held it under the light. It was almost blinding if you looked directly at it—I don’t want to give exact figures but let’s just say it was four zeroes’ worth of sparkle, and would have been more but I didn’t want to wait for the special-order styles to come in.

“I think he’s serious,” Rae opined, sounding just slightly horrified.

“I think this works,” Pepper agreed. She started to put the ring on.

“Actually it goes on your other hand,” I advised. “No, it’s the third finger—the _other_ third finger—here, let me do it.” I reached across the table and took Pepper’s left hand, then slid the ring in place. I don’t want to get too mushy here—that’s not really in my nature, you know—but when I put the ring on her finger something just _clicked_ for me. I had been thinking this whole thing over for a while, and of course Pepper and I were really as good as married anyway and had been for some time, but—putting the ring on just suddenly made it _real_ for me. Our eyes met and we smiled at each other, probably in a really goofy way that people would assure us was actually ‘endearing,’ and then I let her hand go.

There was utter silence at the table. _Awkward_ utter silence. “So…” I began, “did anyone else notice the mashed potatoes are blue? That’s really pretty weird.” This cracked the kids up, at least—Rhodey and Rae still had that look on their faces like, ‘What the h—l just happened?’

“Can I be a bridesmaid, Aunt Pepper?” Ellie asked eagerly.

“Perhaps you can be a paintball scout,” Pepper allowed. “I don’t think there will be any bridesmaids.”

“Don’t make any plans yet,” I warned, grimly spooning up my first taste of the mashed potatoes. “I think it’s going to be a _long_ engagement.”

“I think we should get married pretty soon,” Pepper countered, “before I start to show.” Blue mashed potato chunk were promptly coughed into my napkin.

“Is _she_ serious?” Rae demanded, thoroughly confused (Pepper wasn’t, she absolutely _wasn’t_ serious, I assure you). You would think after all these years Rae would have realized dinners with me and Pepper are never boring.

* * *


End file.
